Interlude: The Courtship of Spencer Allen
by SpencerRemyLvr
Summary: This is a sort of Interlude set after the first chapter of Silent Sorrows, but before the second chapter. This is a three part fic made up of snippets and memories to show how Spencer got from the broken man he was when Remy found him, to finally beginning to heal. Pre-slash. Warnings: mental health issues, suicidal thoughts, grief, depression
1. Chapter 1

To this day Spencer's still not sure what it was that prompted him to leave that motel room with Remy. There was no logical reason for him to do so. No reason whatsoever to trust this strange man who had picked him up on the side of the road and given him care and shelter. Yet the next morning when Remy made the offer, instead of doing the practical thing and saying no and going to find a mechanic to go tow and fix his car, he said _yes._ All he knew was that, for the first time in over a year, he felt something more than grief and pain and that numbness that had slowly been taking over his life. He felt more than the depression that was a constant companion. And in the back of his mind was a voice that sounded so much like his mother, warning him that if he didn't take this chance right here, right now, he might never again get the opportunity to climb his way out of the darkness. That maybe the next time he sat alone at night cleaning his gun might be his last.

There was little sign language that Spencer had been able to learn when he'd been at the hospital and he hadn't felt any motivation to pursue it once he'd gotten out. Nor did he know if Remy even understood any of it. So he was left with the notebook and pen that he held in his lap as they drove down the road. It wasn't exactly safe to be taking Remy's eyes away from the road to read whatever he wrote.

Because of that, Spencer tried to keep it short. They'd been driving for almost an hour with just the low hum of the radio when he wrote down his first question.

 _Where are we going?_

It seemed a strange question to ask after traveling for so long without any care as to where he was going.

Remy's eyes flickered over to his notepad and then back out to the road with lazy ease. "Aint got any real plan yet, me. I was t'inking Salt Lake, maybe." Reaching out, he twisted the knob on the radio, dropping the sound down a little bit more to make it easier to talk. He was relaxed back in his seat, one hand resting n the wheel and his other on the window. "I been running, sort of. Had some heavy shit happen recently and I needed de chance to get m' head back on straight. Always did t'ink best when I was driving." That grin of his flashed, warm and bright. "Anyplace y' feel like hitting?"

There was nowhere that Spencer really cared to go. It'd been too long since he'd really given any form of thought to where he was traveling. Chewing on the inside of his lip, he thought for a second before quickly writing.

 _Not Nevada. Or DC._

He didn't think he could handle either of those places for so many obvious reasons.

If Remy thought his request strange, he didn't show it. "So, Utah, den maybe up to Idaho, yeah? Could pop over to Oregon f' a bit. Been a while since I drove along de river dere. It's a gorgeous sight."

And just like that, the two were on their way to Salt Lake. Spencer's aimless travels suddenly had a destination. It was a shaky one, true, and could easily change with the wind, but there was something different about traveling _to_ some place instead of constantly _away_. Or maybe it was the companion beside him. Or maybe he'd just finally gone insane.

He pushed those thoughts out of his head and settled down low in his seat. After so long traveling with nothing more than his own darkness to keep him company, he let go of himself and just enjoyed riding in his companion's light. The two traveled down the road with nothing more than the music and the sounds of the engine to break the silence. And that was all right.

* * *

They spent eight hours in the car that first day before they stopped in Salt Lake City. Apparently Remy had been serious about them taking their time with this trip. He got them a motel for the night once they'd indulged in some dinner—dinner that had been in an actual restaurant. Spencer couldn't remember the last time he went out and ate around real people instead of quickly grabbing something and slipping away once more. Little did he know that this was just the start of a long campaign that Remy was undertaking to put some meat back on Spencer's bones.

He hadn't been prepared for the fear that would hit him as he sat down inside of this open, exposed restaurant. Having his back out there in the open where anyone could come up behind him was enough to quicken his breathing and have his hands shaking. When Remy flagged down their waitress and politely requested "Is dere any way we might have dat booth dat just opened up over dere, cher?" and slipped her a little extra tip, there was enough room beyond Spencer's gratitude for him to feel any embarrassment. He slipped down into the booth with his back against the wall and a clear view of the room around him and his tension was cut in half. Being around so many people, being where people could see _him_ , was still a scary feeling, but it was manageable. He could breathe.

Remy didn't bring it up through dinner. He said plenty else, spending the whole meal regaling Spencer with stories about himself and some of his friends back home. He wasn't the least bit hesitant about admitting to Spencer that he was a thief and had been for most of his life. Not that Spencer really cared. Who was he to judge? After all, he won out on that contest by far. Remy might've been a thief but Spencer was a murderer.

That thought left a sour feeling in his stomach.

The rest of his meal tasted like ash.

* * *

Each time they stopped, Remy got them a single room with double beds. It never occurred to Spencer to protest it. Until he'd laid there that first night listening to Remy breathe, listening to the soft sounds he made in his sleep, Spencer hadn't realized how much he missed it. How alone he'd felt.

If any of the team could see him now they wouldn't have recognized the person he'd become. Shy little Dr. Reid, running and hiding, sleeping in random motel rooms with a man he'd only known for a few days?

He didn't care. A tiny spark deep down inside felt alive again and the survivor in Spencer couldn't let go of the very thing that had brought that about.

* * *

The two took their time in their travels. In Salt Lake, they stayed for two nights. Boise, only one. Portland, they stayed for four. Remy fell in love with the nightlife there and the gay community that he found. He went out to the bars, to different clubs. It was easy to see just how much Remy enjoyed not only the nightlife, but just being able to be out around people. He wasn't ever bothered by the fact that Spencer didn't come, either. That was something that Spencer definitely wasn't ready for. Eating out was hard enough. The idea of going into a club set his heart to racing and put him in a cold sweat. After the first time, Remy didn't push it, and Spencer always knew the offer was there.

In a way, he reminded Spencer sometimes of Derek, who had always been happy out in the middle of a crowd in a club. Yet, just like Derek, the Cajun also seemed perfectly content when it was just the two of them. He never seemed bothered by the fact that he was often the only one talking or by them not talking at all.

They talked a little in the car as they traveled. Remy had indeed taken them into Oregon, going up towards Portland, and as he'd said the drive on the river was beautiful. Driving through the gorge was simply stunning. Following the river, mountains and trees on either side of him, brought Spencer a sense of peace that he hadn't thought he'd ever feel again. _Mom would've loved this_ , he found himself thinking, and the words cut like a knife through him yet, at the same time, brought a small smile.

Their conversation was light and kept to what could be done on a notepad. Music, movies, books. They discussed their favorites in all. Most of the time, though, Spencer stayed silent, and Remy let him. He didn't pressure Spencer to talk at any time. He seemed content to just let Spencer be.

After stopping off a few times along the way, they ended up breaking for the night in Spokane before moving on the next day to head to Missoula for who knew how long.

There was no real rhyme or reason for where Remy would stop or how long they would stay and that was okay. Just getting up and moving each day, being around a person and interacting, albeit through notes and the few random signs he knew, was hard enough. Slowly coming back to life after a year of feeling like he was a walking zombie was more work than Spencer had expected. Some days he wondered if it was really worth the effort.

* * *

One thing that Spencer learned quickly while traveling with Remy was that his companion was nothing like anyone else he'd ever dealt with. Not once did Remy ask him question about his past. He didn't ask Spencer about his voice or about the pain he sometimes got in his chest. He didn't ask about the whistle and wheeze that sometimes struck Spencer's breathing. He didn't ask about the nightmares that woke him up almost every single night. Any other person in his shoes would've been full of questions. They would've practically demanded to know what was wrong with him. Spencer knew how broken he appeared to others. Yet, Remy did none of that.

When Spencer couldn't breathe properly, Remy offered him a cup of coffee, which was a trick that helped many asthma sufferers, or he'd sit beside him and tell him stories and helped him to relax as Spencer slowly got himself back under control. He made sure that Spencer or himself always had a notebook with them so that they'd always be able to communicate. Once, at some small town in Oregon, Spencer had found a beginners book on sign language stuffed into his bag.

And when the nightmares hit at night, as they inevitably did, his companion was there for him. The first time Spencer had shot up from a nightmare to find Remy in bed with him it had almost been enough to trigger a panic attack. A wave of calm from the man had taken the sharp edge of that panic away just enough for Spencer to actually hear the low words that were being murmured to him in a soothing litany. "Shh, shh, it's okay, cher, it's all right. Remy's here and he's got y'. It was just a bad dream, dat's all. Y'r gonna be okay. Dat's it. Y'r gonna be okay." It was everything that Spencer wanted deep in his heart of hearts and what he'd always tried to convince himself that he didn't need. With the pain and terror of his nightmare still gripping at him, he just didn't have the strength to resist. He let himself be held and coddled and didn't fight as Remy soothed him down like he was some skittish animal. Spencer drifted off to sleep in that comforting embrace.

Remy was already awake when Spencer got up the next morning. Neither man mentioned what had happened. But that night when Spencer woke from his nightmare, it was to the solid feel of a body behind him and whispered reassurances of a man who he was finding himself being drawn terrifyingly close to.

* * *

The first time Spencer had one of his panic attacks in front of Remy was also the first time that Spencer discovered a newfound fear of fire. He hadn't had any reason to encounter fire since that fateful night except for in his dreams. Though he hadn't been able to remember that part of that night for the longest time, his dreams were constantly haunted by burning flames, choking smoke, the sound of his mother's pained breathing and the last few sounds his own voice made as he pleaded for her to hold on, just hold on a little longer, and the final last, pitiful _help_ when the firefighters had arrived right before unconsciousness had stolen over him.

In his dreams it was always the whole thing itself that he figured had scared him. He'd never had any reason to believe that it was the fire. Not until one night in a hotel in Montana.

Remy had gotten them a nicer room for the night what with the snow and the cold. He'd wanted to make sure they were both warm and, though he hadn't said anything to Spencer, the genius had been able to see Remy's worry in his eyes when Spencer was rubbing at the ache the cold put in his chest and wheezing slightly.

As had become normal, Spencer went in for his shower once they got in the room. He generally took his at night while Remy took his in the morning. That meant that Spencer could use all the hot water he wanted and he filled the bathroom with steam until his breathing eased a little and his chest didn't hurt quite so bad.

It was when he stepped back out into the main room afterwards that everything went to hell.

The first thing Spencer noticed was the smell and it was enough to stop him in his tracks. The smell of smoke and burning wood. Almost instantly it set his heart racing. He could hear the low crackles and pops and his eyes zeroed in on flames burning merrily in the fireplace.

He'd never had a panic attack hit him so hard or so fast. It felt like one second he was standing there calmly and the next he was on the ground with his heart pounding out of his chest and his lungs screaming for air. He couldn't hear Remy's voice through the pounding in his ears and the memories of his mother's voice in his ears. Pleading, begging, moaning as the pain got too much, and then quiet, so quiet, already gone though he hadn't known it then. He'd just kept dragging her, pulling them both, trying so hard to get to the doors.

The memory gripped him tightly, like an iron band around his chest, and Spencer was on the verge of passing out when a pair of arms wrapped around him and something _warm_ and _solid_ fitted up against his back in a pose that had become familiar after his nightmares. The initial burst of panic at being restrained faded as he recognized the hold and knew who it was. Then, much to his embarrassment, he found himself clutching at the arm around him. One of Remy's arms went over him and across his chest while the other folded underneath his head like a pillow. Spencer turned his face in towards that one as he gasped for breath and he pressed his nose against Remy's sleeve to block out the smoke smell that wouldn't go away.

Remy's voice was firm and steady in his ear. What he was saying, Spencer had no idea, but he held on to it, to the sound and steadiness of it, and anchored himself there as he fought to relax enough to get his heart and breathing back under control.

He didn't realize he was crying until the tight grip of his panic attack lessened and reality began to sink back in. Embarrassment had him trying to hide his face and wipe away the tears. Remy was having none of it. Firm hands rolled Spencer over and then carefully drew him in until he was pressed up against Remy's chest. That was about the time that Spencer realized that the two of them were lying on the floor right outside the bathroom. When he'd dropped, he must've tried to scoot back, to get away from the fire. His embarrassment grew and he buried his face in against Remy's jacket.

"It's okay, cher." Remy told him, never once letting him go. "It's all right. Y'r safe here. Whatever it is, y'r safe, I promise. I'm right here and I won't let anything happen to y'. Not while I'm around. Y'r safe."

Oh how he wanted to believe that was true. The fantasy of being safe was something that Spencer craved more than anything. He was tired. So damn tired. It felt like he'd been running and fighting alone for so long and he was just exhausted. Tired of being alone. Tired of running. Tired of always being afraid. Tears flowed faster and a silent sob caught in his throat.

How long they laid there, Spencer had no idea. Later, when the tears were done and his hands weren't shaking, he'd write a note to Remy to explain that it was the fire that had set him off. He wouldn't be able to bring himself to say why and Remy wouldn't ask. After that, there would be no more rooms with fireplaces.

But for that moment, lying on that hotel room floor, Spencer curled in against Remy and let the tears flow.

* * *

After Missoula was Billings, then on to Fargo where they surprisingly spent almost a week. Spencer never found out why and Remy never offered.

* * *

They were in Chicago when Remy told him who he was and what he was a part of. He sat Spencer down in their motel room with a fresh pot of coffee and looked at him so seriously as he told him that he was a part of the X-Men.

His face when he read Spencer's reply— _I know. I figured it out days ago when you talked to 'Cyclops' on the phone—_ was enough to bring out one of Spencer's very rare smiles. That smile was gone an instant later when Remy said "We're not dat far from dem. I'd really like it if y' came with me. Dey've always got room for someone new."

In just the space of a heartbeat Spencer went from smiling to one of the worst panic attacks that he'd had in months. Worse even than the one triggered by the fire.

Breaking his self-imposed exile to travel around the country with someone he just met was one thing. Staying at a home with so many different people, a steady place where he can be found, where he can be connected to others, grow close to them—he can't do it. He just can't. Some days the only thing that keeps him from turning tail and running as fast and as far as he can from Remy is the knowledge that the man can most definitely handle himself in a fight. Better than Spencer can. But to go to this home, this place that houses people Remy cares about, that houses _children_? No. No, no, no, absolutely not. He couldn't do it.

It took almost an hour for Remy to calm him down. They ended up curled up together in one of the beds as Spencer trembled so hard it shook the bed beneath them and his breath wheezed in and out of a throat that was going to be sore and swollen for days after this abuse. He'd be on a liquid diet until the swelling went back down.

Remy held him close through all of it and tried to do anything he could to help Spencer calm down. He shuddered a little too and he pressed himself just a tiny bit tighter against Spencer's back. For the first time since they'd met, Remy addressed the great big elephant in the room, the one that they'd both pretended didn't exist. "I don't know what happened to y' or who hurt y', Spencer, _mais_ whoever y'r running from, we can keep y' safe."

It was so tempting. Held in those arms, it was so tempting to trust them, to hope that they could keep him safe and keep Remy safe too. But he knew better.

He would go with Remy, maybe stay in the city a day or two, but then it was time to be on his way again. One night, maybe two, that was what he told himself. Once Remy was back at home there was no reason for Spencer to stay with him. He didn't want to tie himself down to any one person or place. He'd swore that when he left Vegas. There was no way he was going to tie himself down and put anyone at risk. It was better that way. He didn't deserve the ease that he'd found with this man. He didn't deserve a home.

Not anymore.

* * *

After what had turned into an almost month long road trip, the two arrived in New York. This had always been Remy's end destination. For Spencer, it was the end of one trip, and the beginning of another. One that he found himself extremely reluctant to start. Whatever strange thing that had possessed him to get into the car with Remy that rainy night, that had kept him with him day and in and day out this past month, was still there in him telling him not to go. To stay.

 _One day_ , he told himself. _I'll stay for a day, maybe two. But no more._

Remy knew that Spencer didn't want to go anywhere near the mansion that he talked about. Because of that, Spencer fully expected to be dropped off somewhere, most likely a motel. So it surprised him completely when Remy said "Shouldn't be but another half hour an den we'll be at m' new place."

 _Your new place?_

Glancing over, Remy scanned his note and then nodded. " _Oui_. Wasn't sure I was gonna come back, me, so I sold m' last place. But I called up Papa an he got us set up at a nice place down in Chelsea."

Us? That word didn't slip past Spencer's notice. Remy hadn't said 'got _me',_ he'd said 'got _us_ '. Something in Spencer's stomach squirmed at that and he couldn't decide if it was a good feeling or a bad one. He didn't want to be giving Remy false impressions here. He'd thought they understood one another after his panic at coming here. Didn't Remy realize that Spencer wasn't planning on staying?

Remy was surprisingly good at reading Spencer's face and body language and he quickly picked up on his friend's discomfort. Before Spencer could think of what to write down, Remy was reassuring him. "Don't go getting into a panic none, Spencer. I don't stay nowhere without a place to call m' own. I would've called up Papa no matter what to get me a place."

A little of Spencer's tension eased.

"Y'r welcome to stay dere with me as long as y' like." Remy continued on. "Papa says it's a nice place."

Jean-Luc LeBeau, Spencer decided, was the master of understatement. The condo wasn't simply 'nice'. It was a beautiful.

It was a triplex condo that was set up in a building in the heart of Chelsea. A nice building that included a doorman, which Spencer found reassuringly secure. The floor plan was pretty open and beautifully set up and it felt enormous compared to the smaller apartment Spencer had once lived in and the tiny motel rooms he'd been staying in for so long. The living room had sixteen foot ceilings, a skylight, columns, and custom staircases. The main floor held the wide open space for the living room and a kitchen worth of a chef with all the stainless steel appliances and concrete countertops, with a long bar to separate all of it from the living room. The floors were done in slate and bamboo, which gave the place an even nicer feel.

The upper level had a simple loft bedroom and its own bathroom. Spencer almost immediately fell in love with that room. He liked the idea of being able to go to the edge and overlook the entire room. On the other side of that overlooking wall were built in bookcases which required a ladder—one was off to the side, tucked against the wall—to access.

The lowest level was all the master bedroom and bathroom, plus a laundry room tucked in the back.

The place was beautiful. In a better time, in a better place, Spencer would've loved to call something like this home.

"I had a company get some things outta storage f' me once Papa got dis." Remy told him as he set his bag down on the leather couch in the living room. "Dere should be a bed up in de loft or down in de master bedroom. Feel free to take either one y'r comfortable with." When Spencer's gaze immediately went up to the loft, Remy chuckled. "Dat's what I figured. Go on, take y'r bag on up dere. It's late an we might as well settle in f' de night. I'll go pick us up some groceries tomorrow."

Just as Spencer made to go past Remy, the Cajun reached out and caught his arm. Immediately Spencer stopped. He looked up at Remy, cocking his head a little in silent question. For a second the other man hesitated. Then a soft smile touched his lips, giving him a sweet and gentle look. "I just wanted to say dat I'm glad y'r here, Spencer. Even if it's only f' a little while, I'm glad y'r here."

Spencer was blushing as he made his way upstairs.


	2. Chapter 2

_I'm going to make a few things clear at first so there's hopefully no confusion. When Spencer writes, I will always put it in italics and almost always on a line all by itself. If it's not on a line by itself, it'll have something to tell you, such as 'he wrote', after it._

 _Anything that he signs is going to be put in [these] just because I believe it makes it a little easier to know, especially when groups get to talking. It'll also make it easier when Remy switches from speaking to signing back at him._

 _As always, telepathy is covered by the use of /these/_

 _I am opting not to transcribe the ASL as it would translate exactly because I'll openly admit to not knowing signing or how to correctly write it or its grammar. I'm going to write it a person would say it if speaking English, just like we do when we write out translations for foreign languages in stories. I hope this doesn't offend anyone._

 _Okay, I think I covered everything. Read on! :)_

* * *

He'd only planned on staying for a day. Maybe two.

Two turned into a week.

Each day he woke up, telling himself that today was the day he would move on. Today, he would go find himself some transportation. He'd gather up his things, say goodbye, and move on.

Then he'd go downstairs and Remy would be there, making coffee or cooking breakfast, and he'd smile so openly at Spencer, like seeing him coming down the stairs in sleep rumpled clothes and with his unshaven face was just the greatest thing in the world. He'd give Spencer a fresh cup of coffee, get him seated at the bar, and he'd make him breakfast while he talked away, jabbering nonstop about what he was going to do that day, about the weather, about the phone call with his Papa, all the while dancing away to the music that he played in the background, and Spencer would find himself thinking _Just one more day. One more day can't hurt._

* * *

A week turned into a month.

* * *

If he stopped to think about it, it was almost scary, how easily they fell into a routine. Remy made breakfast each morning, without fail, and they would share it at the kitchen table. It was always a full meal, too, nothing quick and easy about it. They were always softer foods, too. Eggs, or pancakes, beignets, or biscuits and gravy. Remy had taken notice out on the road that Spencer tended to stick with the softer things first thing in the morning. Whenever he woke up, his throat was generally swollen or sore, at the very least it was tender, and he couldn't handle much but soft food.

While they ate, Remy always let him know what was in his schedule for the day. He tried to coax Spencer into joining him, to maybe come out to the house with him or to even step outside the apartment at all. A month there and Spencer had only been outside once.

But each day, once Remy was gone, Spencer would retreat back upstairs, back to the safety of that little loft room, and he'd hide out for a little longer, wondering when he was going to find the strength to actually move on.

 _Just once more day._

It became his litany. But anymore, not even he believed it.

* * *

Three months had gone by when Spencer met one of Remy's friends for the first time. Not once in all that time had Remy convinced Spencer to come out to the house where he went each day. Nothing could persuade him. Nothing could persuade him to go anywhere, really. In his fear and depression he'd segregated himself so much from people that he'd forgotten how to act around them and he couldn't find the strength in himself to correct that. It hadn't been easy for him before all of this. He'd been the awkward, socially inept genius. But he'd managed. Years at the BAU with friends that he cared for and who cared for him had helped to give him more confidence. But a year of isolation and almost four months of dealing only with Remy, combined with the anxiety that never fully seemed to go away, and he was just entirely out of his depth with the human population.

Part of him recognized what was happening to him. Knew there were names for it. That there were names for a lot of what he was going through. PTSD. Social anxiety. Panic disorder that was leading to borderline agoraphobia. Severe depression.

Later in life he would admit that he'd been absurdly lucky that his reintroduction to humanity came in the form of one gruff, growling man with terrifying claws and a marshmallow inside that he tried to hide.

Spencer almost didn't answer the knock at the door. With Remy out at the store it meant that Spencer was home alone here. Alone, with no voice to call for help, and only his gun as protection. Tugging on the hoodie that he'd picked up from a Salvation Army, he slipped his gun into the front pouch pocket and then slowly, hesitantly, made his way down the stairs. It was embarrassing, the way his hands shook as he reached out to undo the lock on the door. _There's a doorman downstairs; whoever this is wouldn't be able to get in without getting past him, and Remy swore the doormen that worked here were secure._ That was the only thing that gave him the courage to open the door. That, and the hand he kept curled around the gun in his pocket.

The guy he found on the other side of the door almost instantly set him on edge. Short though the man was, he was thick, muscled, with the look to him that suggested he'd been in plenty of fights and had no issue getting in another one. His hair stuck up a little wild and crazy and with the shaggy mutton chops it gave him a wild sort of look that had Spencer wanting to take a step back.

Then those bright blue eyes fixed on him and the guy was suddenly grinning broadly. There was just a hint of fang to that grin that left Spencer unsure whether to smile back or be very, very worried. "You must be Gumbo's new friend he's been talkin' about. I'm Logan." He stuck a hand out and Spencer immediately took a step backwards while at the same time relaxing ever so slightly. Remy talked about his best friend Logan all the time. The way he talked about him made him sound far different than he looked, though. Spencer had pictured someone…softer. Not as dangerous looking.

Logan raised an eyebrow at his retreat, but he drew his hand back. "Is Rem at home? I was supposed to pick him up for the bar tonight."

Spencer shook his head. Without his notepad, he couldn't exactly tell Logan what the man was doing. But he couldn't just be rude and stand here and say nothing. Chewing on the inside of his lip, he debated for a quick second and made the only decision that he could make. He couldn't be rude. Stepping back a little, he used his free hand to gesture for Logan to come inside. His one hand stayed in his pocket on his gun as he made his way over to the kitchen bar where a notepad and pencil always sat. Spencer watched Logan out of the corner of his eye, tracking the man's movement while he came inside, as he wrote out a quick note. When he was done, he turned and held it up so that Logan could see.

 _Went to the store – be back in 5-10_

There was open surprise on Logan's face when he saw Spencer's note. It was something Spencer would come to realize over time with the feral man; what he felt was generally right out there in the open. He wasn't someone who lived on pretenses or hid what he truly felt about things. It was also something that Spencer would come to dearly love about him.

Years of ingrained manners prompted Spencer to write a second note, though there was a good part of him that wanted nothing more than to retreat upstairs.

 _Would you like to have some coffee while you wait?_

"That'd be great." Logan said agreeably.

He settled in at the bar while Spencer moved about the kitchen. It was a little easier, having that small barrier between them, leaving him comfortable enough to let go of the gun and use hands to get the coffee started. He'd just got the pot brewing and was pulling down mugs to take to the bar when Logan spoke again. "Rem talks about you plenty, but he never said you couldn't speak. I know sign language, if you're more comfortable using that."

The offer surprised him. He stopped halfway to setting the empty mug down in front of Logan and looked up at him. Then, flushing, he dropped his gaze again and quickly set the mug down before shaking his head. He turned around and busied himself with getting out the creamer and sugar and bringing those over as well.

The silence in the condo was thick and heavy. It was smothering, making Spencer only more uncomfortable, more on edge. With each passing minute, his heart beat a little faster and his hands shook a little more. It all came to a head when he was carrying his own empty mug over to set down on the counter. He was almost there when the door suddenly burst open. In the silence that had been around them, the sound of it opening was extremely loud and it made Spencer jump, his shaking hand immediately losing grip on the mug. Thank God it was empty. It hit the ground and shattered, shards flying everywhere.

Logan shot up the minute the cup hit, moving forward like he was going to help, and Spencer couldn't stop himself from quickly scurrying back, almost tripping himself in his haste to get away. His obvious panic had the feral freezing only halfway up from his chair.

It was Remy who saved the day. He took in the scene with one look and moved in quickly. Within seconds he had the grocery bags set down on the counter and he was moving around the broken cup and over to where Spencer stood with his back pressed up against the fridge. "Hey, hey, Spencer, cher, it's all right." He didn't hesitate to move up to Spencer's side and reach out for him, completely ignoring Spencer's flinch. One hand settled on Spencer's stomach while his other reached up to clasp the back of Spencer's neck. "Relax, cher. Y'r speeding y'r breathing up way too much. Just relax. Focus on m' hand. Breathe in and push against m' hand. Dat's it, dat's right. Now breathe back out, carefully."

With Remy's presence there to help, it only took a few breaths before Spencer calmed himself. He looked up at Remy once he had his breathing under control and something in him cracked a little at the sad look that the older man was giving him. He bit his lips, wishing in that moment that he had a voice to apologize with, to tell Remy just how damn sorry he was for being so fucking broken. Then again, maybe he didn't have to say anything at all. Remy's expression softened and his hand slid from Spencer's neck to his cheek, cupping the side of his face and stroking a thumb over the apple of Spencer's cheek. "Don't worry about it." He murmured gently. "It's all right. Y' go on upstairs now, yeah? I'll lock de door behind me when I leave."

Immensely grateful, Spencer pretty much ran away, almost tripping in his hurry to get up the stairs. He didn't start to relax until he was safely tucked into his bed. Only then did his breathing steady and his heart start to slow once more.

Things downstairs were quiet but for the sounds of Remy cleaning up their mugs at first. Spencer lay there listening to it, cursing himself for having become so pathetic, so socially inept that he couldn't even handle a ten minute visit without freaking out. How pathetic was he? How low had he sunk?

The sound of Logan's gruff voice interrupted his thoughts. "I didn't mean to spook the kid."

Spencer heard Remy sigh and knew the Cajun would be shaking his head. "It's fine, _mon ami_. De fact dat he let y' in at all is a big step. De rest of it aint y'r fault."

He listened as Remy finished putting the groceries away and then as the man grabbed is keys from wherever he'd set them down. A minute later, the sound of footsteps faded down the hall and there was only the click of the door and then the twist of a lock. Then, Spencer was alone. Just the way he wanted to be. So why did everything suddenly feel so empty?

* * *

The dark cloud that surrounded Spencer seemed to grow thicker. What little light he'd found with Remy was slowly fading away as more and more often he pushed his friend away. He still stayed here, still stayed in that little loft bedroom, but the light he'd enjoyed when he first slept up there was gone now. None of it seemed to break through the clouds that darkened his own personal skies.

Remy tried. Oh, Lord, did he try. But with each passing day Spencer felt as if he sank a little lower. The ground felt like quicksand and with each step he took he was sucked a little further under. One day, it was going to cover him, and he had no idea what he'd do then. Would there even be enough left of him to care?

* * *

Everything came to a head late one evening, six months after their arrival in New York, after yet another attempt by Remy to get Spencer to come out to the house and meet with the doctor there. As always, Spencer refused. He'd expected Remy to back away the same as he'd done every other time. He hadn't expected _this_. Not the heartbroken expression that took over Remy's face as he said the words that ripped apart the careful shelter Spencer had erected around himself.

"I can't keep doing dis."

They stood in the living room, staring at one another, and the emotion in the room was almost palpable. Remy's words echoed around them. They had Spencer frozen, eyes wide as he stared at the only friend he had in the world right then, watching as everything that he thought he'd built here slowly started to come apart.

There was a wealth of pain in Remy's eyes. Pain that he, Spencer, had put there. It echoed around them, permeating Remy's voice. "Spencer, I care about y'. I think I've cared about y' since dat very first night when y' gave me dat tiny little smile. Y' looked so shy and scared and broken an all I wanted to do was wrap y' up and tell y' dat everything was gonna be okay. I've been trying everything I can since den to help y', even though I aint got a clue what happened to y'." He held up a hand when he saw Spencer reached out for his notebook. " _Non_ , dat wasn't a criticism. Whatever happened, I get dat y' don't wanna talk about it and I sure as hell aint gonna make y'. Dere's some heavy shit in my past I don't ever wanna talk about again. What right do I got to try an make y' talk about y'rs? _Mais_ , I can't keep trying to help y' when y' aint willing to help y'rself."

The words hit Spencer like a fist to the gut. He actually took a step back, one hand going to his stomach as if to hold against the imagined pain.

Remy winced a little at that and almost stopped, almost cut himself off, but then Spencer saw him draw in a deep breath and he pushed on. "I want to help y', Spencer. I want to see y' smile again. I want y' to _live_. Y' hide in here every single day, never going anywhere unless I force y', never seeing anyone. Y' won't go to de doctor, even though y'r breathing scares de hell outta me sometimes, an dat emergency inhaler y' got from urgent care aint enough. Y' won't even look at de sign language books. I know Logan's offered to teach y' and y' won't take him up on it. Y'r intentionally crippling y'rself, an y'r hiding, cher. Dis, it aint living. It's surviving, _oui_ , _mais_ it aint living. An I…I can't keep trying to make y' live when y'r not putting out any effort y'rself."

The whole world seemed to freeze. Spencer's breath caught in his throat and he swore that the city held its breath with him. All of his attention was focused on the man that was grabbing a duffle bag off the floor that somehow Spencer hadn't noticed before. The look on Remy's face was soft and sad and it broke something inside of Spencer.

" _Je suis désolé, mon ami_." Remy said softly, and he looked like he meant it, too. He looked so very sorry. Yet, determined. He wasn't going to change his mind. "I can't keep doing dis. I can't fight so hard to keep y' alive when y' won't do a damn thing to help. Y' can stay here f' as long as y' need, _mais_ I can't sit here and watch y' slowly kill y'rself. I'm gonna go stay at de house with de others. If…if y' change y'r mind, y' know where to find me." He paused, mouth open as if he was going to say something more, only to shake his head instead. Silent, he turned around and walked away.

Spencer stood there long after the door had shut. He stood in the middle of the living room of a place that Remy had made home for him. A place that had become what he thought of as his safe haven.

Had he been wrong? Instead of a safe haven, had he made himself a prison? He looked around him and hated what he saw. This was Remy's home, one that he had opened up to Spencer, accepted him inside of, and Spencer had turned it into a cage. A cage in which to hide away from the fears and memories of the world.

It was safe here. No one could hurt him here and he could hurt no one. He didn't have to be responsible for anyone or anything at all. No one's lives were in his hands. No one looked to him to solve any problems. He didn't have to start to _care_. He didn't have to be afraid that someone he cared about was going to be taken away because of the simple crime of being connected to him.

He didn't have to live.

Part of what Remy said came back to him and had Spencer wincing. He hadn't actively tried suicide, or even really given it serious thought, in quite a while now, but he wasn't living here. In a way, Remy was right. He was slowly killing himself. Cutting himself off from the world and just giving up. Was that what he wanted to do with himself? Was that what he wanted to become? Spencer closed his eyes and his body gave a soft shudder. What would his mother think of him now?

She'd be furious with him, he knew. She always hated when he didn't take care of himself. Every phone call, every letter they'd shared, had always carried reminders to take care of himself. Even when she'd been at her sickest and Spencer had been forced to be the parent, even when she was so delusional she didn't know up from down or a chair from a sniper, she always tried to make sure that Spencer took care of himself. If she were here now to see what he'd done with his life, a life that she'd protected at the cost of her own, she'd be devastated.

Had her sacrifice been for nothing? Was this what he was going to do with what she'd given him? She'd given up her life for him! Spencer had replayed those events so many times in his mind. He knew that, at the end, his mother had been at her most lucid—and she'd still moved to protect him. She'd willingly given herself so that Spencer might live. She'd been willing to do anything to guarantee that.

He had to decide now, was he going to honor that gift? Or was he going to finally decide that enough was enough? There could be no more half-life. No more moving through the motions. Either he was going to live, or he would die.

It was time to make a choice.


	3. Chapter 3

The sun had been up for a few hours when a lone cab pulled up to the front of the X-Mansion. The slender man that climbed out the back looked like a far cry from the one who had sat in the middle of an empty living room only hours before. Spencer straightened up after paying the cab driver and took a moment to just stare up at the imposing house in front of him while he listened to the sound of the cab pulling away behind him. Unconsciously he smoothed a hand over the front of his shirt. For the first time in a very long time he'd actually put an effort into his appearance. He'd shaved, trimming down the scruff on his face until he had a slight beard and goatee. His hair was buzzed short once more. He'd even put on clean, unwrinkled clothes, foregoing the sweats that he'd taken to wearing lately. Clean blue jeans encased his legs, black boots covered his feet, and he wore a AC/DC shirt that he'd pulled out of the dryer that he was pretty sure was Remy's. Over it all he wore a simple zip up black hoodie.

A shaky breath shuddered out of him as he took a step towards the front doors. There was no more turning back. This was it.

In all of his determination to get here there was one thing that Spencer hadn't thought of. He realized his mistake when a beautiful black haired young woman answered the door and smiled brightly at him. "Hi there. Can I help ya?"

Spencer stared at the woman for a moment and realized that he'd idiotically forgotten to bring any sort of paper or pencil with him. His mouth opened a little with surprise before snapping shut. With the woman watching on with slight confusion and a hint of amusement that made Spencer's stomach twist unpleasantly, he quickly patted down his pockets despite already knowing that he didn't have anything on him. When he looked back up at her again his cheeks were red with his embarrassment. Licking his lips, he held up one hand flat, palm up, and used his other hand to mime writing.

It took just a second for it to click for the woman. Her whole face lit up with the realization and she nodded quickly at him. "Of course, of course. Just a sec." She darted away before he could do anything. It really only took a few seconds before she was back, thrusting out a notepad and pen.

He took them gratefully and quickly scrawled out a single word.

 _Remy?_

The girl looked at the held up notepad and then up at his face. "He's um, a little busy at the moment. I think he's with some…students. Want me to go get him for ya?"

He was surprised to find that he actually had the urge to smile a little at her stilted speech. Obviously she wasn't quite sure how to explain away Remy being in what was most likely some form of training. Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he gave her another nod.

She let him in to wait in the foyer, indicating that he could take a seat in one of the chairs here, but Spencer couldn't sit. It was taking everything he had just to stand here and wait as she went to go get Remy. There was a part of him that was still screaming that he was an idiot and that he should be far, far away from here. What on earth was he thinking? How could he come into the home of the X-Men? They housed some of the strongest telepaths out there. The last thing that Spencer needed was for his secrets to come out. Potentially getting help with Remy was one thing. His past? That had to stay his past. Spencer Reid had died for a reason. So long as he stayed hidden as Spencer Allen, the Unsub might not find him, and if he was going to really be sticking around with Remy that was suddenly much more important. Spencer wasn't going to risk this man. If that meant that he had to keep the truth of who he was a secret for the rest of his life—so be it.

Remy had said that he wasn't going to push Spencer to talk about his past, but that he wanted to help. Right now that promise was all that was holding Spencer here. It was the only thing that left him comfortable enough to accept the hand Remy was extending him. He would do this, but it had to be on his terms. The past had to stay the past.

The sound of footsteps had Spencer's head jerking up. He had to take a careful breath and force down the panic when he saw Remy come around the corner.

His first thought was that Remy looked horrible. He looked like he hadn't slept at all last night either. Like Spencer, there was slight bruising under his eyes, just barely visible from the side of his sunglasses. But there was something else that was on his face that helped Spencer to steady his hands once more. It was a cautious sort of hope. The kind that said he wanted to, but was afraid to. Spencer knew that feeling well.

They stood frozen for a long moment there in the foyer. Off to the side, the young woman who had gone to get him stood, transfixed. She stayed staring at them until Remy broke the silence to tell her " _Merci_ , Jubilee. Remy can take it from here."

Just a hint of a pout crossed her face before it smoothed out. With a quick, peppy wave, she was gone, and they were alone.

The quiet fell over them once more. Looking at Remy, seeing the cautious way he held himself that was so at odds with the open way he'd always been around Spencer, it made him hurt a little inside, and it made him realize that he was going to have to be the one to break this silence. He was going to have to be the one to put himself out there first. Remy had done it so many times over the seven months that they'd known one another. He'd done it that first night on the side of the road and he'd been doing it over and over again ever since despite how many times Spencer had shot him down. Well, he'd finally had enough. It was Spencer's turn now to put himself out there.

There was a slight tremor to Spencer's hand when he pulled it from his pocket. He drew in a breath to steady himself and then formed his hand into a fist, thumb on the side like he was signing an 'a', and then he brought his fist up to his chest and he made clockwise circles on his chest. [Sorry] He'd made sure to learn that sign before he came over. But it wasn't all he had to say. Grateful once more for the girl who had given him the notepad—he couldn't believe he'd been such an idiot and left without anything on him to help him communicate!—he pulled it up and wrote out a quick message. When he was done, he hesitated, fingers tightening briefly in the notepad. This was it. There would be no more walking away once he did this. Right now, if he wanted, he could turn and walk out of the house and Remy wouldn't stop him. He'd let him go. But once Spencer handed this over, he'd be committing to this, to getting help, to letting someone back in his life in a way he'd sworn not to do after his mother died.

He looked up at Remy's face and saw the hope there, so very hesitant, and he could see it slowly starting to withdraw the longer that Spencer stood there. Seeing that made the fist around his heart tighten. Before he could stop himself, he thrust the notebook out, holding it there in his shaking hand and forcing Remy to take another step towards him so he could be close enough to reach. For one long moment their eyes locked and Spencer hoped to God that Remy could see the things that he couldn't say. Whatever he saw, it brought the hope back, brighter than ever, and then Remy dropped his eyes to read what Spencer wrote.

 _I'm sorry. I want to be better – I do. But people close to me get hurt. I care about you too, Remy, and I couldn't live with myself if you were hurt because of me. I can't lose another person._

Holding out the notepad, Remy caught Spencer's gaze once more and his eyes were packed full of so much emotion it was breathtaking. "I can't promise aint nothing ever gonna happen to me, Spencer. M' job's dangerous."

He nodded quickly to show he understood. And he did, really. Being one of the X-Men meant that Remy's life was always going to be at risk. But, as pathetic as it sounded even to himself, Spencer knew he'd cope much better with anything that happened to Remy on the job compared to if were caused by his connection to Spencer. Writing out another message, he held the notepad up for Remy to read.

 _I can't make any promises either. I've been broken one too many times. I don't know if the pieces can ever go back together. But I want to try. If the offer's still there._

The joy that lit Remy's face made the fear that was still churning in Spencer's stomach feel worth it. And when the man darted forward, those long arms wrapping him up in a hug he'd been so damn terrified he wouldn't get to feel again, he let himself hug back just as tightly this time, clinging to Remy's waist and burying his face in against his neck to inhale that scent of cologne and a bit of body wash that was all Remy. For the first time since Remy had walked out the door, Spencer felt like he could breathe again.

* * *

Committing himself to fixing his problems didn't mean that Spencer automatically got better. It was a long, hard process, full of hard days and tough nights. Days where he wanted nothing more than to lock the door to the condo and keep everyone from entering. Nights where the nightmares were so bad he'd end up shaking and throwing up in his bathroom while Remy rubbed his back. There were times where the depression got so bad all he could do was curl up in his bed and cry. Yet there were other days, better days, where he began to hope that maybe there was a light at the end of the tunnel. Little by little, bit by bit, he started to get his life together.

The first step was to get his health in order.

Spencer hadn't really stopped to think all that much about any of his health troubles. Sure, he knew that his voice was gone, and doctors had sworn that it wouldn't come back. But he hadn't really heard anything else they'd said about his lungs and throat and he hadn't paid all that much attention to his breathing except for trying to control it when the panic hit or when it started acting strange. So when Hank sat him down and told him just how bad the scarring in his lungs and throat was—which was why he had trouble breathing, why his throat was more swollen in the morning, why the winter was so damn difficult for him and summertime made him wheeze—it came as a sort of surprise.

The only thing that got him through it without freaking out was that Remy was there by his side through all of it.

He was there for Spencer at every single medical appointment with Hank, though Spencer could see how much the other man didn't like being in the labs. He stayed at Spencer's side and held his hand through the tests and paid attention to every direction that Hank gave the same as if it was his own health that was being talked about. When Hank told Spencer that the damage to his throat and lungs had was going to cause him trouble similar to asthma—something that he'd had as a kid and that he'd 'grown out of'—Remy had been right there with Spencer, leaning how to use the inhaler that Hank prescribed, just in case Spencer was ever too far into an asthma attack to be able to do it himself, and making sure he knew which was the emergency inhaler and which was his daily one for maintenance. Hank even gave Remy an extra emergency one for him to carry in the event that Spencer lost or didn't have his.

He learned the medications that Spencer had to take as well for everything, two pills and a liquid, plus what to do if Spencer's throat was sore enough to not allow him to swallow his meds. He stayed at Spencer's side and learned the special diet that Hank was putting him on, learning what foods he should avoid and what he should add more of and what kind of calorie intake Hank wanted to get Spencer back up to a more normal weight. He even learned how to use the specialized oxygen tank that Hank put him on for at home oxygen therapy. Every bit of information that Hank gave them, Remy was right there with him, soaking it up. They planned out a light exercise regime to get him into shape and to keep him as healthy as possible. Exercise, a good diet, proper medication, regular checkups, and all the necessary vaccinations to try and keep him from getting sick. Apparently he was going to have to watch that for the rest of his life. He'd been warned of that, though, after the anthrax. That it would be extremely easy for any cold to move into his chest, where it would quickly become serious.

For all of this, Remy was at his side. None of it scared him away. Now that Spencer had committed to trying to get better, there wasn't a single bit of it that he went through alone. Remy was even there when Spencer went for the first few times to see the very private, very discreet therapist that, surprisingly, they'd been referred to by Logan. The man had assured him that she was exceptionally discreet. The feral knew her through an old CIA contact of his who often referred men to her when they got out of the field. There was the added benefit that she knew sign language. And, she wasn't a telepath, which immediately put her above Charles in Spencer's book.

It was hard. So damn hard. But he was doing it.

He even started to leave the house, letting Remy draw him out into the world. Sometimes it was just a trip to the grocery store. Other times, a walk. Just a simple walk. Once, even, a trip to the movies. Somehow Remy always seemed to know the things that Spencer wanted to do or things that he would like. Just the right things to interest him enough to make it worth it to be there despite the threat of panic.

Though Spencer saw Hank for medical purposes, he avoided contact with pretty much the rest of the house. There was a big part of him that still very much did not want to get attached to more people than necessary. The only person he couldn't avoid meeting was Charles.

Remy took him in that first day and introduced him to the Professor. Spencer had been terrified. Meeting a telepath? It was the last thing he wanted. What if Charles picked up something? What if he could see some of Spencer's past? That couldn't happen. He couldn't let that happen.

When Charles offered to mind-speak with him, suggesting that it might be easier since Spencer couldn't speak, he almost had a panic attack right then and there. It was only Remy's presence and his gentle coaxing that kept Spencer from panicking too much. He wrapped Spencer up in a tight hug and rubbed at his back in that soothing way he had while Spencer clung to him, embarrassed but unable to do anything else. "Hey, hey." Remy murmured against his hair. "Hush now, cher, it's all right. He aint gonna go poking around in dere without y'r permission. Y'r fine. It's fine. We'll stick with de paper and pen f' now, yeah? Y' aint gotta have anyone in y'r head if y' don't want."

"He's quite right." Charles had added. He watched the two with a hint of sorrow, wondering what on earth had created this kind of fear in someone. "It was just a suggestion, Spencer. I promise you, I will never mind speak with you without your permission. I doubt that I even could." When that drew him two surprised looks, the Professor smiled at them. "You have the most amazing shields, Spencer. Thicker and more complex than what I would expect. It makes me curious. I have to ask, with shields like that—are you a mutant?"

That was a question that Spencer had expected and one he wasn't afraid to answer here. Spencer Allen didn't have to hide this the way that Spencer Reid had. Not that it mattered anymore anyways. He'd lost all that the day he lost his voice.

His nod had Remy pulling back in surprise. The Cajun looked down at him, cocking an eyebrow. "Really? Y' never mentioned dat!"

He had to break away a little from Remy to be able to pull up his notepad and write.

 _Empathic voice_.

With one hand he held up the notepad and with the other he tapped his throat and then made a small gesture to indicate it was gone. The sympathy he saw in their faces told him that they understood what he meant.

"Maybe that's something that we can help you with." Charles offered, startling them both. "I'm assuming your ability allowed you to inject emotions into your words, am I correct?" He waited for Spencer's nod before continuing. "There's a chance that you might be able to redirect your power to come out with the words you sign, or to just project them all together. While they were tied to your voice before, there had to be a base of empathy itself in there. I imagine that's why your shields are as strong as they are. To keep you from feeling things you don't want to feel and from projecting too much. If you wish, we might be able to teach you how to harness your empathy and use it in ways you haven't before."

Spencer didn't even have to think before he shook his head. There was enough on his plate as it was right now. Adding extra training was more than he was ready to take on. Maybe someday, when things were better and he didn't feel so, so broken inside, but not today. Not yet.

* * *

They had Logan over frequently as a dinner guest, after which they would spend part of the evening practicing sign. Logan was a good teacher. Surprisingly patient and understanding. He didn't push Spencer too hard or too fast or berate him on the days his hands shook a little too much to make a steady sign. But he didn't let him get away with excuses, either. Not him, and not Remy. It wasn't just Spencer that was learning sign language. Remy was learning it too. When Spencer had looked surprised at that, Remy had laughed. "How am I supposed to understand y' if I don't know it, cher? Y' aint always gonna have an interpreter dere."

Really, focusing on learning how to sign was almost another form of therapy for Spencer. He'd always been the type to like to learn things and he'd always been a quick study. Logan commented all the time that Spencer was catching on faster than he'd expected. Learning gave him something to focus on during those darker times. When his depression struck, when things felt dark and hopeless and terrifying, it helped to sit down with the sign book or with the online program that Remy had found and study and practice signs and phrases.

It was hard and there were days where he didn't quite know if he was going to make it. But Spencer was fighting again. That survivor that lived inside of him, the one that had gotten him through a lonely childhood, through caring for his mother and going through college, through his early years at the BAU and those first few horrible cases, his first kill, the Fisher King, _Georgia_ , the Dilaudid—that part of him was still there. Remy had brought it back out.

* * *

On the day of the two year anniversary Spencer didn't get out of bed.

Nothing Remy said or did could draw him out of his little loft room. When the man pushed too hard, Spencer got up and locked himself in the bathroom for the next two hours.

He was stunned to find that Remy was still sitting on his bed when he came back out. Aching, upset, and just a little bit embarrassed, Spencer made his way back to the bed. When Remy lifted the blankets, the silent genius sank down onto the bed, but he didn't lie down. He sat himself cross legged at Remy's side. The man didn't say anything. He just drew the blanket around Spencer's shoulder and then mimicked his pose, staying close enough to his side that their arms were barely brushing against one another. They stayed there together quietly for who knew how long. Spencer didn't keep track. It could've been minutes or it could've been hours. However long they were there, Remy never once wavered, never moved away nor said a word. Not even when Spencer leaned over and rested his head against that solid shoulder that he was coming to realize really was going to be there for him. It was exactly what Spencer needed. It gave him the support and strength to be able to draw in a shaky breath before he abruptly thrust his hand out Remy's direction. The man didn't startle at the quick move. He just reached up and carefully took the faded picture from Spencer's hand like it was the most precious thing.

Bringing his hand up, Spencer spread his fingers out and tapped his thumb to his chin in the sign for Mom.

"She's beautiful." Remy murmured, tipping his head to better look at the picture. "I can see y' in her. De smile, de cheekbones."

The grief around Spencer's heart swelled and then contracted. It was always there, tightening up like a vise when the guilt grew with it. Closing his eyes, he shuddered out a breath, feeling it catch in his chest. His hands shook a little as he signed the words he'd never dared come right out and say to anyone before. [I killed her.]

Remy turned towards him, better to see his hands, and Spencer had to sit up as well without the support he'd been leaning on. "Spencer…"

[It was my fault.] Like the words had just been waiting, they tumbled from him now, his hands flying so fast he wasn't sure how on earth Remy could read them. [I tried to save her but I couldn't. I was too slow. I was stupid. She died and it was all my fault. It should've been me.]

"Spencer, _non_. _Non_." There was heartbreak in the Cajun's voice. He reached out, laying a hand on Spencer's knee, and his sorrow was written on his face. "Y' can't blame y'rself, cher. I may not have known y'r Mama, _mais_ I know dat if she was anything like y', she would've given her life gladly to keep y' safe."

[You don't know. You don't understand. It was my fault. He took her from the hospital because I wouldn't come to him.] Spencer signed quickly. The tears were starting; he could never stop them. Not when the memories came back this way. [She was mentally ill; she didn't know what was going on. He hurt her, Remy. I tried to help but I was stupid and he caught me and then he just hurt us both before he killed her. He killed her just because she was my Mom. She died because of me.] He had to stop signing as the first sob broke free. The only sound it made was a faint hint of a wheeze, a whistle to his lungs as the air was punched out of him. Covering his mouth with one hand, he dropped forward, trying to hide it as the tears poured from his eyes and his body shook with silent sobs.

Warm, steady arms wrapped around him and drew him in close against the familiar strength of Remy's chest. There, cradled close like he were something precious, he let go and let himself grieve. Let out the pain that his therapist told him he shouldn't keep locked inside. It ripped out of him with a violence that, had he been able to voice, would've come out sounding like screams. Remy held him through it all.

Eventually, when the sobs lessened and the tears slowed, Remy laid them both down. He tucked them under the covers and then curled up close to Spencer. The two laid on their sides facing one another with their hands clasped together between them. It didn't feel awkward or strange or any of the other things it might've years ago. Remy had seen Spencer at some of his worst times and still stuck around. It felt…right, to have him there.

And when Remy leaned in and pressed that first soft, gentle kiss against Spencer's lips, that felt right too. Natural. Like it was the most normal, everyday thing.

They lay there together trading the first of many soft and sweet kisses until Spencer finally drifted off to sleep.

Little by little, the cracks in his heart had started to heal.


End file.
